On Tuesday, I’ll be joining a Westminster protest for the first time in my life. Yes, me—a man more comfortable behind a laptop than in front of a megaphone, who once thought the height of rural activism was separating the recycling correctly. But something has stirred me into action: the plight of British farmers under proposed changes to inheritance tax.
Now, I’m not a farmer. But for five years, I lived in Little Brington, a beautiful farming village in rural Northamptonshire. It was there that I truly grasped the essence of multi-generational farming. Families whose names have been etched on the same fields for centuries, their livelihoods tied to the land like ancient roots. These families don’t just work the land—they are the land.
When I heard Rachel Reeves announce the proposed changes to inheritance tax, my first reaction was disbelief. These policies feel like they’ve been dreamt up in some Whitehall echo chamber by people who think milk comes from Tesco and wheat arrives pre-sliced. The new rules, which could force families to sell parts of their land to pay inheritance tax, don’t just threaten their livelihoods—they threaten their legacies, their histories, and, frankly, our food security.
If you’ve ever watched Clarkson’s Farm, you’ll know what I’m talking about. Jeremy Clarkson, that unlikely champion of agriculture, peeled back the pastoral curtain to reveal the grim economics of British farming. A farmer might own 400 or 500 acres of land worth £10,000 per acre, plus a farmhouse and some battered machinery totalling another couple of million. On paper, they’re millionaires. But in reality? The average British farmer scrapes by on a profit of around £75,000 in a good year. Factor in bad weather, fluctuating market prices, and skyrocketing costs, and it’s easy to see how the balance sheet ends up looking like a punchline to a bad joke.
Yet under these proposed inheritance tax changes, farmers are being treated like cash-rich oligarchs. Imagine a family that’s spent generations stewarding 500 acres of farmland, only to find that the tax bill when the patriarch or matriarch dies forces them to sell off large chunks of their estate. It’s not just a financial blow—it’s an emotional and cultural gut-punch. And it’s happening at a time when we should be doing everything in our power to protect British farming.
Because let’s be clear: farming is not just about fields and tractors. It’s about feeding a nation. British farmers already face relentless competition from cheap imports and the looming uncertainty of trade agreements. Add punitive inheritance taxes to the mix, and you’re essentially dismantling an industry that’s already hanging by a thread.
Living in Little Brington gave me a front-row seat to the quiet heroism of farming life. I remember waking up to the hum of tractors before sunrise, seeing sheep huddled against winter winds, and chatting with neighbours, who could tell you the exact day their grandfather bought the land we were standing on. Farming isn’t just a job—it’s an identity, a legacy, a calling.
But it’s also relentless, underpaid, and often thankless. Watching Clarkson’s Farm drove home the point that farming isn’t for the faint-hearted. It’s a high-risk, high-stress business where one bad season can spell disaster. And yet, these are the people who ensure that milk, meat, and veg end up on our plates. It’s a responsibility they carry with dignity, even as policymakers pile more weight onto their already bowed shoulders.
This is why I’m standing with British farmers next Tuesday. I’ll be there in my decidedly non-rural coat, probably clutching a thermos of coffee and wondering how exactly to chant without feeling like an idiot. But I’ll also be there because this isn’t just a fight for farmers—it’s a fight for all of us. A fight for the landscapes we love, the food we rely on, and the communities that make Britain what it is.
The proposed inheritance tax changes are not just bad policy—they’re a betrayal of the people who keep this country fed. We’re talking about families who work seven days a week, 365 days a year, in conditions most of us wouldn’t last a day in. And yet they’re expected to swallow the idea that the government can swoop in and take a massive chunk of their estate simply because they’ve had the audacity to die.
This isn’t about special treatment for farmers—it’s about fairness. It’s about recognising that farming is not like other businesses. You can’t liquidate a few hundred acres without fundamentally destroying the operation. You can’t put a price tag on centuries of heritage. And you certainly can’t replace British farmers with faceless conglomerates and expect the same care and commitment to the land.
Ex-Labour adviser John McTernan has suggested that what Starmer is doing to farms is ‘what Thatcher did to coal mines’.
So, yes, I’ll be at Westminster. And I won’t just be protesting the tax changes—I’ll be standing up for the farmers of Little Brington and everywhere else. For the people who rise before dawn to tend to their herds, who battle through rain and snow to harvest their crops, who live and breathe the land in a way most of us will never understand.
This isn’t just their fight—it’s ours too. Because when the farms are gone, we’ll realise too late what we’ve lost. And I, for one, refuse to let that happen without a fight.
If you’d like to join the protest on Tuesday 19th November the organisers are asking people who plan to attend to register online first so they can work with the Metropolitan Police on managing numbers and also communicate maps and itineraries.
